


BIG IRON.

by steeleye



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humour, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day; Marshal Faith Lehane and her ‘biographer’ are on the track of a demon outlaw. …and the slayer's aim was deadly with the big iron on her hip.





	BIG IRON.

BIG IRON.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Buffyverse or the song ‘Big Iron’ a ballad by Marty Robbins although I’ve used the shorter Johnny Cash version. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** BtVS with the ballad ‘Big Iron’.

 **Spelling, Grammar and Punctuation;** Written in glorious UK-English. Which is different from US-English.

 **Timeline:** Post BtVS Season Three.

 **Words:** 5000+.

 **Warnings:** Some strong language.

 **Summary:** To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day; Marshal Faith Lehane and her ‘biographer’ are on the track of a demon outlaw. …and the slayer's aim was deadly with the big iron on her hip.

0=0=0=0

**Introduction.**

**Extract from the Wikipedia page about Major Albert Cardwell, VC.**

By the 1890’s the era of the so-called ‘Wild West’ was all but over, the railways, telegraph, law and order had all helped to ring its death knell. On to this stage rode Major Albert Cardwell, VC, a retired British army officer. He was one of a number of men who kept the legends of the west alive within the pages of the luridly written ‘Penny Dreadfuls’ of the time.

Cardwell was unusual in that he wrote for a mainly British audience and in his choice of the hero for his stories. He wrote mostly about a woman; a heroine who did more than just scream and faint, which was normally what heroines of the time did. Cardwell’s heroine, or ‘The Slayer’ as he often referred to her, actively tracked down and fought the many overblown villains that appeared to populate the American west at this time.

Another point of interest in Cardwell’s books was the recurring supernatural theme that often appeared in his tales. As often as not Cardwell’s wild west Amazon would fight vampires and demons as well as more mundane human foes.

By the turn of the century with Britain fully embroiled in the South African war, Cardwell had fallen from favour with the British reading public. For a while you can still find him publishing works in the Untied States but by 1901 he appears to have disappeared from the public gaze.

0=0=0=0

**Agua Fria, New Mexico, 1895.**

_To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day_  
Hardly spoke to folks around her didn't have too much to say  
No one dared to ask her business no one dared to make a slip  
For the stranger there amongst them had a big iron on her hip  
Big iron on her hip. 

Pulling her horse to a halt, Faith took off her hat and ran her grimy fingers through her sweat damp hair. Shading her eyes with her hat she looked down at the sign that stood crookedly by the side of the dusty track. ‘Agua Fria’, it read; ‘cold water’, she smiled at the claim, ‘Population 207’. There had been several corrections to the population figure over what looked like the last few years; Faith suspected that the number was little more than a wild guess.

The badge on her waistcoat glinted in the sun, catching her attention, she sighed wearily before unpinning the Federal Marshal’s badge and putting it into the pocket of her dusty blue jeans. It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention to herself. A female marshal, the town’s people would ask, whatever next? That would be almost as bad as a female gunfighter; Faith smiled to herself before kicking her horse into motion once more. Riding towards the little town, barely a mile away now, her eyes picked out the larger buildings of the settlement. 

An old white painted Spanish church stuck out above the other buildings, a huddle of flat roofed mud brick hoses, no doubt housing the town’s Mexican population. Just to the left of these older buildings stood the newer American clapboard buildings, made of wood ranging in colour from grey to almost bone white. Picking out the saloon and livery stable, Faith sighed with relief to see what looked like a proper hotel where hopefully she could get a bath. 

Remembering what her watcher had told her, she smiled at her good fortune, the railroad was supposed to come through Agua Fria in a year or two. Obviously someone had decided to get ahead of the game and build a real hotel near where the railroad station was meant to be. The railroad was one of the reasons she was here, no one was going to build a railroad to town that still harboured demons.

0=0=0=0

_It was early in the afternoon when she rode into the town_  
She came riding from the south side slowly lookin' all around  
She's an outlaw loose and running came the whisper from each lip  
And she's here to do some business with the big iron on her hip  
Big iron on her hip. 

Riding into town, Faith looked down the short main street. As before she noted the saloon across from the general store and post office; so far she’d not seen a telegraph office. There was a doctor’s office, a bank, a local newspaper and a gun store but no sheriff’s office, obviously the local demon didn’t like the law being in ‘his’ town.

Stopping off at the livery stable, Faith dismounted. Her jeans stuck damply to her legs as she moved. She’d ridden through the hottest part of the day and now felt like a limp, damp rag. An old Mexican man wandered out of the stable to take charge of her horse, his eyes grew wide with surprise when he realised the rider was a woman. After giving instructions about the care and feeding of her mount, Faith flipped the guy a dollar for her horse’s keep, grabbed her saddle bags and headed for the hotel.

0=0=0=0

“Who’s a girl have to kill to get a bath ‘round here?” Faith asked the clerk behind counter in the hotel lobby.

The hotel was definitely new, new carpets, new furniture it even smelled slightly of paint. It was all fancy carving and fake gold leaf, way too ‘overblown’ for such a one horse town. The balding guy behind the counter looked up from the ledger he’d been working on and eyed Faith with distaste.

“Whore’s go down the street to Miss Daisy’s,” he replied before bending back to his work.

Reaching across the counter, Faith grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt and slammed his face into the polished counter top; she was in no mood to screw around with assholes like him.

“Hey,” smiling as she easily held the man’s head against the hard wooden surface, “I asked nicely, ya want I should be more, y’know, forceful?”

The clerk’s frightened eyes noticed the big revolver on Faith’s hip for the first time, it seemed to change his opinion of her more that having his head slammed into the counter had.

“W-why of c-course not ma’am,” he stammered as Faith released her hold and let him stand up again, “S-sorry about the misunderstanding,” his eyes flickered from Faith’s face to the large amount of cleavage exposed by her unbuttoned shirt and then on down to her revolver. “A bath you say?”

“Yeah,” Faith fanned herself with her hat, “an' a room for the night…I don’t think I’ll be staying here long.”

The clerk cast her a relieved glance before going into his well rehearsed sales pitch.

“Well, Miss, you’re in luck today,” he ran a finger across the hotel register before turning it around to Faith so she could sign, he passed her a pen. “The Agua Fria Grand Hotel is the newest and best in the territory,” he smiled broadly. “We have a bath and water closet on every floor.”

“Yeah, great, all real modern, y’know,” Faith shifted the weight of the gun belt on her hips, “I wanna bath in my room…”

“Oh yes, no trouble at all,” the clerk smiled nervously, “I’m sure we’ve got an old style bath tub somewhere.”

Signing the register, Faith glanced up at the guy, he looked nervous obviously not used to dealing with pushy, strong women…with a gun; in this day and age, who was? The clerk handed her a key.

“Number fourteen,” he smiled with his mouth but not with his eyes, “nice quiet room at the back.”

“It better be,” Faith snatched the key from the clerk’s trembling fingers.

“You want help with you’re luggage?” the clerk eyed Faith’s saddle bags.

“Nah, I think I can manage,” picking up her saddle bags Faith tossed a five dollar bill on the counter, she headed over to the stairs on the other side of the lobby and started to head up towards her room.

0=0=0=0

The room was comfortable enough, Faith sat down on the bed and bounced up and down experimentally a couple of times; it would do. It was miles better than the hard, cold ground she’d slept on the night before. Looking around the room she saw a wardrobe, chest of draws, wash stand, an overstuffed armchair and one window that looked out over the kitchen at the back of the hotel.

There were curtains on the windows and carpets on the floor, in fact there had been carpet on the floor of the corridor outside and on the stairs. She’d need to watch out for people sneaking up on her their footsteps muffled by the flooring. Oil lamps hung from the walls, she doubted that they’d throw enough light for her silhouette to be seen through the draps.

Having just managed to get one boot off she heard a knock on the door.

“Who’s there?” Faith’s hand went to her Remington .44 revolver.

“Your bath, Senorita,” called a muffled female voice.

Holding her pistol behind her back, Faith limped across the floor on one booted foot and opened the door. She found an attractive Mexican woman in a white blouse and dark blue skirt standing with an enamel bath tub by her feet. Smiling, Faith opened the door wide to let the woman in. With a flurry of rapid fire Spanish the woman and a pretty teenage girl manoeuvred the tub into Faith’s room. Next they brought in buckets of steaming hot water to fill the tub. Thanking the two women and slipping them each a quarter, Faith got herself out of her sweat stained clothes and slipped into the tub with a satisfied sigh. Relaxing in the hot water and flicking idly at the bubbles that hid most of her body in true western movie fashion, Faith lay back and considered her position.

0=0=0=0

The fight with Buffy had gone badly, Faith had found herself staring at the wound in her stomach and the bloody knife in Buffy’s hand. At least she’d stopped Buffy from using her blood to revive Angel, with any luck the vamp was long dead…or would be. After falling from the roof of her apartment block, Faith was surprised to wake up in hospital. She’d been even more surprised to discover that she was in a hospital in New York in 1893; she’d not taken it at all well and had almost got herself committed to a lunatic asylum. Her humour wasn’t improved when she was eventually picked by the American branch of the Watchers Council; they’d been most surprised to find a slayer operating in the United States while the previous slayer was still alive and fighting in Russia. Their surprise knew no bounds when they found out what year Faith had been born in. After she’d explained how things were going to work, the American Watchers Council thought it best to let Faith do things her way and assigned a watcher who was ‘radical’ enough for her not to murder out of hand. In fact after a few teething problems Faith developed a warm friendship with her new watcher almost as good as the one she’d had with her original watcher back uptime in Boston.

0=0=0=0

After bathing and changing into clean clothes, Faith buckled on her gun belt and leaving her dirty clothes outside her door to be taken away and washed she headed downstairs and out into the street. Standing on the boardwalk outside the hotel, she took out her watch from the pocket of her waistcoat and flipped open the cover, five past five it said.

“Time to eat,” she told her stomach and directed her feet towards the saloon.

0=0=0=0

_In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Texas Red_  
Many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead  
He was vicious and a killer though a youth of twenty four  
And the notches on his pistol numbered one and nineteen more  
One and nineteen more. 

News of Faith’s arrival had quickly spread throughout the town; on every street corner people stared at this strange woman as she walked by and speculated on who and what she was. By the time Faith had completed the short walk from the hotel to the saloon the consensus of opinion in the town was; she was a woman who had shot her lover back east and was now on the run from the law.

0=0=0=0

Sitting in the corner of the saloon furthest from the main doors, Faith sipped her beer before starting in on her steak and fried potatoes. Silently she thanked god for her slayer metabolism otherwise her arteries would have hardened months ago. Hadn’t these people ever heard of greens? Maybe a nice green salad? Faith had never thought of herself as a ‘healthy eater’ but since she’d been living in the past she’d found herself craving crisp vegetables instead of the overcooked mush she had to put up with if, she was lucky.

As she ate she noticed the looks the other denizens of the saloon were giving her. News had obviously got around that you didn’t mistake the ‘woman with the gun’ for a whore…unless of course you really wanted your face smashed into the furniture. The story went that’d she’d pistol whipped the hotel clerk when he mistook her for one of Miss Daisy’s girls.

Fear and mystery were useful tools, Faith knew; finishing her meal she pushed her plate to one side and pulled a cheroot from her waistcoat pocket. Striking a match on her boot heel (again in true ‘Western’ movie fashion) she lit the cheroot and blew smoke into the room. Smiling to herself she took another pull on her beer and sat back. Any moment now curiosity would get the better of one of the crowd of men who were at present staring at her from the other end of the bar and he’d come over and ask her what her story was.

0=0=0=0

Two old cow-pokes stood at the bar (they’d both been arrested and fined for ‘cow poking’ many times but they just kept doing it) sipping their beer and watching Faith out of the corner of their eyes.

“Quite a looker, that one,” commented Jed, one of the old cow-pokes.

“Yeah,” agreed Jake the other old cow-poker, “if’n you don’t mind having y’balls cut off in the night!”

“That’s as maybe,” agreed Jed, “but a gal like that almost makes y’wanna give up poking cows.”

Taking a pull on his beer, Jake considered his friend’s words for a long minute before replying.

“Nah,” he said finally, “cow’s got pridier eyes!”

0=0=0=0

It took nearly five minutes for one of the men at the bar to crack, something of a record thought Faith. Normally someone would approach her just after she’d finished eating. Sometimes they’d be civil, sometimes they’d need smacking down having not got the memo about her not being a whore. The guy that approached her had the look of an old professional gambler; chances were he’d at least be polite.

0=0=0=0

_Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around_  
She was a Boston slayer wouldn't be too long in town  
She came here to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead  
And she said it didn't matter she was after Texas Red  
After Texas Red. 

“Hi,” the gambler looked down at Faith as she finished her beer, “can I buy you another?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Faith replied slowly as she put down her glass, “as long as ya don’t get t’ thinking that it’ll entitle ya to any special treatment.”

“Wouldn’t dream of presuming, Miss…?” the gambler pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from Faith, he signalled to the barkeep to bring more drinks.

“Names Lehane, Faith Lehane,” Faith pulled out another cheroot and lit it…she’d always loved watching westerns as a kid now she got to live them.

“Sounds like you’re from back east,” the gambler leaned back in his own chair and pulled a cigar from his fancy waistcoat.

“Yep, happen I am,” Faith laid the Clint Eastwood, ‘Man with no name-isms’ on with a trowel, “Boston, y’know?”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever been that far east, m’self,” replied the gambler, “furthest I’ve been is the Mississippi.” The old gambler took a deep breath before asking Faith his next question, “So, what’s a young woman like y’self doing all the way out west,” he smiled to show he was joking, “lookin’ for a husband?”

“Reckon not,” Faith blew smoke across the table, “but I am looking for a man...fella by the name of ‘Texas Red’.”

For a moment the bar went completely silent as everyone froze in place; the piano player stopped playing and one of the saloon girls gasped out loud.

“Texas Red!?” wheezed Joe the gambler almost choking on his cigar, “Now what would a nice girl like y’self want with the likes of…” Joe gulped noisily, “...Texas Red?”

“I’m aiming to take him in,” Faith’s hand drifted down to rest on the butt of her pistol, “one way or another.”

“Hey!” Joe laughed nervously and looked around at his bar friends for support, “You’re joking right?” he ran a nervous finger around his collar, “I-I mean, many men’ve tried to take him in an’ he’s killed ‘em all.”

“Lucky I’m a woman then,” Faith stoically kept her face straight.

Joe’s fingers shook as they loosened his collar, “He’s a vicious killer although he’s only twenty-four,” Joe swallowed loudly, “and the notches on his pistol number one and nineteen more!”

“Twenty, ya mean?” Faith asked innocently.

“Um, yeah!” Joe finished the whiskey in his glass in one gulp; he poured himself another with a shaking hand. “What did,” Joe gulped again, “Texas Red ever do to you? If’n you don’t mind me askin’? Did he shoot y’sweetheart or maybe y’pa?”

“Nope,” Faith stood up slowly and ground out her cheroot under her boot heel, “he nudged m’arm an’ made me spill m’drink this one time.”

The only sound in the saloon was Faith’s spurs *tingeing* as she walked towards the exit. Stopping at the swing door she turned to watch the frightened faces that had followed her across the room. 

“Tell Texas Red I’ll be awaiting fur him,” Faith fought to keep the laughter from her voice, “about half past eleven in the main street outside this here saloon.”

Faith turned to go, only to be halted by a cry from behind her.

“Don’t y’mean high noon?” cried Jake the cow-poker.

“Nope,” Faith sighed loudly, “I’m having m’hair done at midday,” pushing open the swing door she walked out into the street.

0=0=0=0

_The morning passed so quickly it was time for them to meet_  
It was twenty past eleven when they walked out in the street  
Folks were watching from their windows every-body held their breath  
They knew the dark haired slayer was about to meet her death  
About to meet her death. 

The following morning, after a good breakfast, Faith checked out of the hotel and walked over to the stables were she checked on her horse. Sitting in the shade of the stable building she took out her Remington, took the weapon apart and carefully began to clean it.

“I say, my dear,” came a rather breathless English voice from behind her; Faith’s watcher stepped out of the shadows and found himself looking down the short but oh so wide barrels of the Derringer that had appeared in Faith’s right hand.

“Steady on, Faith old girl,” the man pulled his battered, old, safari jacket straight and sat down next to his slayer.

“I swear to god, Albert,” Faith made the little pocket pistol vanish back up her sleeve, “one day I’m gonna blow your freakin’ head off.”

“Never happen, my dear,” replied Albert nonchalantly, “I have every confidence in your ability to stop yourself from firing before it’s too late,” he smiled disarmingly at the young woman by his side. “And a gentleman likes to know that all those years he spent on the Northwest Frontier weren’t wasted and he can still make his slayer jump on occasion.”

“Yeah, okay,” Faith punched her watcher gently on the arm, “y’know if you weren’t so old and grey I’d screw you to death for that.”

“Oh my,” Albert rejoined with mock terror having grown used to Faith’s threats and mode of speech, “lucky escape for me then, what with me having one foot in the grave and all.”

Major Albert Cardwell VC; late of The Corps of Guides (a regiment of the British-Indian Army) was Faith’s watcher and friend. ‘The Guides’ were a unit which had a formidable reputation for excellence, innovation, individual initiative, endurance, daring and toughness in battle. A fertile ground for the Council to recruit field watchers.

“Whatever,” Faith quickly and expertly put her Remington back together, “how did this Texas Red guy take the news that I was in town?”

“Surprisingly well,” observed Albert having spent the previous night at the outlaw’s hideout in his guise of a writer, “mind-you he’s no idea he’s going to face a slayer. No doubt it’ll all come as a rather nasty shock to him when you shoot the bounder.”

“So, what kinda demon is he?” Faith rested her back against the wall of the stable and pulled out a cheroot.

“Dashed odd that,” Albert lit a match and held it to the end of Faith’s little cigar, “apart from looking somewhat red…where he gets his name I suppose, he looked completely human.”

Faith gave her watcher a worried look; she’d killed a human by mistake once before she didn’t want to go down that road again.

“Oh don’t you worry old thing,” Albert reassured her, “I checked most thoroughly; he’s a demon through and through. Must confess I was a bit worried myself…thought he might be some poor chap who’d been possessed.”

“So, ya sure?” Faith turned to look at her watcher.

“Sure as sure can be,” sighed Albert, “you can blow as many holes in him as you desire.”

“One should do it,” grinned Faith, “as long as you put the mojo on the bullets.”

“My god Faith,” Albert smiled and shook his head, “the things you say and the smoking…sometimes I forget where you come from, then you say something odd like that and it hits one like a bucket of iced water. Are all girl’s like you in the future?”

“Nah,” Faith checked her watch, it was nearly time to go, “some are worse!”

“HA!” Albert laughed and slapped his thigh before asking, “Is it time?”

“Yeah,” Faith stood up and ground out her cheroot then adjusted the fit of her gun belt, “better have old ‘B’ saddled up if we need to make a fast exit.”

“Not a problem, my dear,” Albert stood up and held out his hand to Faith, “I’ll see to it…good luck then.”

As usual, Faith ignored the offered hand and wrapped her watcher in a fierce hug before letting him go and slapping him on the upper arm.

“Don’t need luck,” Faith turned to go, “I’ve got you and Mr Remington.”

Watching his slayer walk out of the stable and into the sunlit street, Albert Cardwell thought he’d never get over it; alright, yes, the vampires, demons and monsters. Everything he had thought had long ago been consigned to the pages of story books, these he could live with and understand. But a universe that required young women and girls like Faith to go out and fight such terrors, that he couldn’t accept. Shaking his head at the injustice of a cruel universe, Albert started to saddle their horses.

“Bloody odd name for a horse,” he muttered as he worked, “'B' for god’s sake…must ask her about it one day.”

0=0=0=0

*Ting, ting, ting*, Faith’s spurs jangled merrily as she walked out into the hot morning sun. Stopping for a moment she pulled the revolver from its holster, checked it one last time then slid it back into place. As she walked on down the street her fingers searched in the pocket of her waistcoat for her badge; finding it she pinned it back on her waistcoat.

It was times like this that her mind would play tricks on her; at the moment it was singing, ‘Do not forsake me oh my darling’ from the film ‘High Noon’ to her. Trying to banish all thoughts of Gary Cooper from her mind she walked on down the street towards the saloon.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the good citizens of Agua Fria scurry for cover; mothers pushed inquisitive, children reluctantly into doorways or down side streets. Riders halted and turned their mounts about to gallop off in the opposite direction, while wagons and buckboards hurried on by, their drivers hoping to be clear of the street long before the shooting started.

Faces peered at her from windows, no doubt already counting her as a ‘dead woman walking’. Faith smiled knowingly, they were all in for a big surprise. It was then she saw him, a man standing in the shadows in front of the saloon. He didn’t look very much different from any other vicious killer she’d put down. Until, that is, he walked out into the sunlight to stand in the middle of the street facing her. Her slayer senses went into overdrive; there was no doubt about it, this guy was a demon. 

Her footsteps faltered for a moment as she caught her first clear look at Texas Red. Albert had said he looked human other than looking ‘somewhat red’. Red? This guy wasn’t ‘somewhat red’ he was ‘WAY RED’! He had to be one of the reddest things she’d ever seen; although he did look a little like a young Gene Hackman. Whatever, Faith sighed to herself as she came to a halt about forty feet from Texas Red; she’d talk to Albert about his ‘British understatement’ later.

“You come to try y’luck girlie?” Texas Red called down the street to her.

Even if Faith hadn’t already been out to kill the demon, she’d have done it now anyway; she hated being called a ‘girlie’.

“Reckon so,” Faith replied in true Clint Eastward style as she spat onto the dusty road.

“'Fore I kill ya, girlie,” continued the demon not realising just how dead he was going to be in a few seconds time, “who the hell are you? I-I like to know coz we’ll need to write something on y’marker.”

Pulling her waistcoat straight so the demon could see her badge, Faith said nothing.

“Ain’t that the goddamn blasted thing?” gasped Texas Red, he turned to shout to his buddies in the saloon. “HEY YOU GUYS! Come and lookie here, they’ve gone an’ sent a fee-male marshal to shoot me,” he laughed quietly before turning to regard Faith again, the next time he spoke it was much more quietly and for Faith’s ears only.

“You risk your skin catching killers and the juries turn ‘em loose so they can come back and shoot at you agin.” Texas Red sniggered, “If you're honest you're poor your whole life and in the end you wind up dying all alone on some dirty street. For what? For nothing. For a tin star.”

Sighing quietly, Faith gauged the wind and the position of the sun, not that it really mattered, she’d kill this asshole deader than a doornail even if it was blowing a hurricane. Catching the demon’s hand began to move, Faith’s slayer reflexes went into overdrive. As if in slow motion her hand closed on the butt of her own pistol and hauled it from its holster. Her thumb sort out and found the hammer before drawing it back to full cock. She turned slightly from the hips as her arm brought the weapon up so the barrel was pointing directly at Texas Red’s head. A mere twitch of her index finger and the pistol boomed as a cloud of white smoke obscured her target for a moment.

Before Texas Red had even cleared the pistol from its holster, Faith’s bullet had entered his skull leaving a neat .44 calibre hole between his eyes and blowing out the back of his head. Blood and brains sprayed in a glittering fan across the dusty main street. Turning on her heel, Faith walked back to the stable where Albert and the horses waited for her. Another day’s work done and another demon dead.

_There was forty feet between them when they stopped to make their play_  
And the swiftness of the slayer is still talked about to-day  
Texas Red had not cleared leather when a bullet fairly ripped  
And the slayer's aim was deadly with the big iron on her hip  
Big iron on her hip.  
Big iron Big iron  
When he tried to match the slayer with the big iron on her hip The Big Iron on her hip 

0=0=0=0

The ‘tin star’ speech just before Faith shoots the demon is actually a quote from the film ‘High Noon’.

Highlight and right click to hear Johnny Cash sing ‘Big Iron’ and to watch a very silly video!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81nCjeZ8RU0

Originally by Marty Robbins, I’ve used the slightly shorter Johnny Cash version.


End file.
